


The Selfie Stand

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Artist Dean Winchester, Castiel and Anna Milton are Siblings, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Fluff, Grumpy Castiel (Supernatural), Humor, M/M, Mastermind Charlie, Murals, Painter Dean Winchester, Some angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Dean feels like Michelangelo discovering David. This guy’s the definition of the perfect male specimen. It’s in the way his dark brown hair loses a wrestle with the wind, but still looks purposefully styled. And the even smaller details, like the folds around his mouth that make his barely-there smile as blinding as the reflection of the sun off his bronze skin.Who knew a man wearing a short-sleeve ‘Save the Bees’ t-shirt and jeans would get him this bothered?





	The Selfie Stand

“Dean, the bar is so low, you’re playing limbo.”

Dean stills on his ladder. “Charlie, there’s nothing I can do about it now. The skyline’s already set. If I paint over it, it won’t be accurate to the landscape.”

“I’m not talking about _that_ bar.” Charlie reaches up and snatches Dean’s paintbrush. “You keep saying you’re having trouble picking up girls when you’re overlooking the major advantage you have above all of us—you’re staring at it.”

“The Chrysler Building?”

Handing his brush back, Charlie emphasizes, “ _Dean_. This. Don’t you get it? You’re an artist. You don’t need to be funny or charming or even have a massive schlong—”

“I’ll have you know my chub game is far and in between.”

“My _point_ ,” Charlie continues, “aside from _eww_ —is that women will flock to _you._ Just...”

Dean’s mouth parts before he raises a finger. “I know that look. You’re _not_ dragging me to another reproductive rights function. I fully support women being the gatekeepers of their vaginas, and being educated about them, but I’d like to avoid drawing another cervix for the rest of my life.”

“No, no, not that. What if you paint a mural?”

Dean blinks a few times. “Why am I painting a mural?”

“Because women love posing in front of murals?! See, this is why you need to join social media.”

“So I can see women posing in front of murals?”

Charlie drops her head with a sigh. “Work with me, Dean.”

“Okay, alright, I’ll bite,” he replies. He steps down from his ladder to look up at the progress of his painting. His dad said he couldn’t have any posters on his wall because of the marks the tacks will leave behind, but he never said anything about painting them. There was something magical about New York City during his summer there fresh out of high school as a culinary intern. Back when he had a clear-cut future. “What should I paint?”

Charlie shifts her focus to the painting as well. Her eyes settle on Uraeus, a giant statue in the heart of Times Square Dean’s visited a dozen times during his stay. He’s not sure what drew him into a massive pair of lead wings, but whatever it was now has hold on Charlie.

And that’s how Dean ends up in Kansas City, painting a fifteen-foot mural.

When he returns a few days later with Charlie, he finds, to his chagrin; she was right. Dozens of girls are lined up around the block to take a picture in front of his mural. Even though he doesn’t understand it, he’s humbled by the indirect admiration for his work.

“What did I tell you?” Charlie says, bouncing on the balls of her heels. “It looks amazing, by the way. Did you intentionally choose the colors of the bisexual flag for the feather variance or did that happen naturally?”

Dean’s chest presses pause on its steady rhythm, causing his heart to pick up on the melody. “I… um. How did you…?”

“Dean, I may have been born gay, but it wasn’t yesterday.”

“Right.” Dean chuckles. Charlie has always had a unique way of saying I love you. Among his favorites have been _Star Wars_ and _The Princess Bride_ references.

“You know, if you wanted help getting _dudes,_ you could’ve just taken a shirtless bathroom mirror selfie and uploaded it to Grindr.”

”No thank you. Why do guys like bathrooms so much?”

“Good lighting? Piss kinks? I don’t know.”

Dean’s mouth wrinkles up in disgust. “Yeah, I’m never peeing in my shower again.”

“Oh please, like you think I haven’t stumbled across your pantie collection.”

“ _What?”_

“Well, well. Looks like Victoria’s Secret got out of the closet.”

“Very funny Charlie, now when did you—?”

“Not you,” Charlie snaps before her hands are on his face, turning Dean’s head three hours back. “ _Him.”_

Dean manages to shake her off, but he can’t shake the butterflies playing the harp against every nerve in his body. There’s a new person standing in the middle of his mural; this time it’s a man. He’s posing like a kid graduating from Communion: Stiff, stoic, his only insight as what’s going on is his mother’s ambiguous, relentless praise and encouragement to smile.

In this case, it’s not his mother, but a redhead around his age, but she’s just as spry. “C’mon, Cas! Don’t you want a good Facebook cover photo?”

“Over a happy and fulfilling life? Can’t say I do.” _Wow,_ that’s a husky voice.

The girl rolls her eyes, but keeps her iPhone steady. “You’re such a prune, Cas.”

“Better a prune than a peach.”

“Okay well can you be a _peach_ for five seconds and smile?”

Dean feels like Michelangelo discovering David. This guy’s the definition of the perfect male specimen. It’s in the way his dark brown hair loses a wrestle with the wind, but still looks purposefully styled. And the even smaller details, like the folds around his mouth that make his barely-there smile as blinding as the reflection of the sun off his bronze skin.

Who knew a man wearing a short-sleeve ‘Save the Bees’ t-shirt and jeans would get him this bothered?

“Okay we got them, can we go now?” David— _ahem, Cas—_ gripes.

“Wait, I have to make sure the photos of me are good!” the girl argues.

“Anna, you look the same in every photo.”

“Well that’s no good then!”

Charlie nudges Dean. “Well what’re you waiting for?”

“What?” Dean asks, even though Cas’s silhouette is etched in his retinas, thanks to the sun and some rather unpleasant male hormones.

“ _Dean._ ” Charlie pins him down with those hazel eyes of hers. “Talk to him before I shove you.”

“You wou—!”

Dean swivels around with a scoff, “You shoved me!”

Charlie just shrugs.

Turning back around, Dean’s met with a hard summer rain. Cas’s eyes, that is. They’re a dark, deep blue offset by a lighter, brighter sheen that can only be described as a sparkle. Dean takes a step back to avoid getting drenched. “Hi—um, sorry. I didn’t… my friend…”

“Coerced you into coming here for an Instagramable moment?”

Dean shuts his mouth and nods with a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah. Yeah, unfortunately.”

“I just don’t get it, you know?” Cas says, turning to Dean’s painting. “I mean, it’s an impressive mural, but what is it trying to say? Aside from hashtag city life.”

“Art is interpretive.” Dean shrugs. “It’s nothing and everything at the same time.”

“But what did it mean to the artist?” Cas presses. “It probably took them a great deal of time. Why invest in something for so long if it’s not personal to them?”

Dean turns to look at it too. He has to say, he’s pretty proud of this piece. Not only are the wings massive, but he managed to get a lot of detail into feathers the size of his hand. Highlighting the vanes and shafts in white against the blues, purples, and pinks brings out a more ethereal feeling.

Don’t get him wrong: Uraeus is beautiful, and untouchable in terms of replication. But it feels more troubled. There’s a reason that artist chose lead as their composition. Lead is heavy, like the pressures of life. Dark, like the uncertainty of what’s ahead.

“It’s freedom.” The words leave Dean’s mouth before he can retract them. “It’s being able to cocoon into a bulletproof shield when society hits you with who you really are and who you want to aspire to be. It’s putting yourself out there without fear of blinding people with the colors of your soul. It’s bold and it’s beautiful and it’s having the confidence to say that.”

Cas turns to Dean with parted lips. He lends out his hand with a grin. “Dean Winchester, the artist.”

Cas scoffs incredulously. His hand is calloused and slender, but warm, just like the smile he’s giving Dean. It exposes even more folds around his nose and eyes Dean realizes have been _his_ wings this whole time. “Cas.”

“Hey Cas,” Anna cuts in from behind him. Cas turns, revealing Dean. She takes him in, then looks at Cas before waving her hand. “Never mind. Hannah and I are gonna scope out more murals in the area. I’ll swing back around to pick you up.”

Cas nods. “Sounds good.”

“Kay… _bye_!” She sing-songs ‘bye.’

It’s Cas’s turn to wave her off. Anna drops her eyebrow, but her playful smile remains as she leaves.

Cas turns around with the shake of his head. “Little sisters.”

“I know the type.” Dean glances behind him. Charlie’s throwing up two enthusiastic thumbs before she too gets the hint and skids off to her car.

Dean decides to spread his wings first: “Um… would you… wanna grab a bite to eat? You know, to discuss the aesthetic epidemic and the death of art?”

Cas not only laughs, but nods to the beat of Dean’s erratic heart. “Let’s blow this selfie stand.”

 

 


End file.
